Reign Over Ice

[Seven]

Remsing's eyes followed Anonyma's actions with intent curiosity; her movements at the beginning were standard enough, but they quickly became anything but. The use of the whip, the colorful handkerchiefs, that disarming smile--he flinched in time with the helpless young man, ducking back behind the ledge before peering out again slowly with childish curiosity. Though the reactions were similar, the motivating feelings were worlds apart; whereas the man was driven by terror, Remsing was by anticipation, excitement, and a ridiculous sense of giddiness. Truly, Anonyma could have moonlighted as a masked superhero for ghouls--if ghouls had children's media like books, television, or comics. He clucked hissingly as he watched, eyes all wide. Oh, the hororr! Oo--that must have really smarted. Remsing was beyond amused, almost amused enough to forget to be duly impressed.

Unfortunately, he remembered he didn't exist in just a vaccuum, that he wasn't watching this as if through the lens of fiction, that this was his partner--friend, enemy?-- showing off, and suddenly, he wasn't entirely sure how to feel about it anymore.  There was a fleeing thought--Does she want to impress me? Why would she--that was quickly dismissed in favor of, "Oh, she wants to show me up!" He huffed, indignant suddenly, crossing his arms by the time she grinned up at his vantage point. 

But his meal was right there....

Remsing hopped down the roof easily, looking her work over. "Not the way I would have done it..." he admitted, trying to keep his aloof. The scent of blood was still way too enticing to stay upset either way--or maybe he just had a short attention span--as he creeped over her, one arm slung over her shoulders. "But hey! It works! Maybe I should make you hunt for me full time!" He smirked at her. "I can even go steal stuff to free up your schedule!" 

[Forsaken]

It was unfortunate that Anonyma had been too focused on her presentation to actually notice Remsing's reactions. She would have been quite charmed. Perhaps even so much so that she would have gotten flustered and confused, so it may have been for the best that she hadn't seen him after all. 

Her attention had shifted to him now, too late to catch his furtive glances but plenty early to notice the aloof airs he flaunted while sneaking toward her. It was the sort of attitude that once rubbed her the wrong way, but now she expected as much from him. Then came his arm around her shoulder, and while she should have expected this as well and part of her had, the other part just never got accustomed to such overly familiar gestures. Her neck felt vulnerable beneath the bandages, and the ghoul's strange skin was now very nearly resting against their top edge, where her neck was exposed to the elements.

A strange shiver ran a delirious course throughout her body, starting at her shoulders and continuing to the tip of her now bristling tail. That impish smile of hers faltered. She was going to have to chalk this one up to the cold and excitement to distract herself from how much she wanted to seize him, run her hands over him, feel him...

This wasn't a safe way to react to the ghoul at all. She reached over and lifted his arm off of her shoulder with only her thumb and index finger outstretched, grimacing as though she was disgusted to have to touch him. It was a very convincing front to outsiders, but it was also one that tended to wear thin with time.

"Hunt for you full time?" It was almost as though she'd been so distracted she'd nearly forgotten what he'd said to her, and was repeating it back to put her own thoughts in order. "Perhaps every now and then, if only to show you how much fun it is to have accessories while out on a hunt. Pockets are quite useful. You should try them out sometime."

To exaggerate her point, she put her thumbs in the front pockets of her pants and tugged them forward. She was back onto that clothes topic again, like a bloodhound on a trail. No way was she letting it go, either.

[Seven]

Remsing noted the taunt, the elastic snap of her pockets back to the regular shape of her clothing, and furrowed his brow. Clothes of all nonsense was not going to be the thing that one-upped him. "What delusions you are operating under! My friend. For why wouldn't I have pockets if I so chose to?" Remsing then slid his hands down toward the hips, and in a mockery of pants, he pinched his skin, and for one awful, Lovecraftian moment, there was a rather unpleasantly macabre sound accompanying of skin being ripped up like that of velcro straps. It was the sort of horrible that no human could have bared to look at without flinching and clenching eyes shut, made only worse by the casual nature with which the ghoul had enacted it. 

But there was no signs of blood, no smell of flesh, no visible wounds. Malleable as playdough simply were two pockets; he shoved his clawed thumbs and extended them, a mimicry of what Anonyma had done just moments before, then released them whereupon they snapped back with elasticity, just like fabric pockets might've. He then flashed his awful smile of canine teeth as if he were the most charming delight of the world. See? it seemed to say, before he actually expanded. "Being a superior creature, I really have no need for artificial attachments." 

"But enough about me! Not that there could ever be enough about me." He then turned to the unfortunate man, one gnarly hand reaching out to stroke just parallel to her incision.  The muffled screams only grew more desperate, and that much more useless to his sad predicament. He looked back at her. "I admit, it's some pretty solid work." In the next moment, he had scuttled up the nearby lamp post, hanging on as easily as if gravity was always on his side. "Kukuku, all trussed up here, like a big, fat turkey."  Perhaps he could not entirely help his nature, playful and malicious, for even though the man was already caught, he was used--wanted to--stalk and circle. And he did, presently now perched on the tavern sign, remarkably supporting the two weights. "It would seem like a waste to just gobble him up now." And with that, he leapt to the floor and came full circle, slowly pull up in front of her, just inches apart. "A turkey like this one needs to be baked." It'd been so long since he had a cooked meal. 

[Forsaken]

Pockets were useful, and temporary pockets were nowhere near the same thing. The ghoul couldn't pack the way the raccoon could, not unless he wanted to look like a large misshapen amalgamate of assembled goods that would seem to rest uneasily beneath his skin. Of course he was too vain in his way to ever entertain such a thought. The vision of a skin-pocket infested Remsing was even more disturbing as what he was doing with the two pockets he had temporarily opened to prove his point. Anonyma narrowed her eyes at her ghoul companion, ready to argue, but of course he turned to her catch instead. They couldn't just leave him hanging after all.

Laugh-snorting at her own pun, she reached back to her captive and yanked her knife free. His entire body jerked in reaction, but she did not notice, having become abruptly fixated by the brilliant gemstone-bright gleam of blood on her blade. She slowly traced the flat length of the blade with one finger, entranced by how brilliant the red looked against the metallic gleam of the blade she was slowly revealing beneath the path she uncovered. When mesmerized like this she could lose track of surprising amounts of time, but she was lucky to have Remsing return to her before she got any stranger. 

She wiped her hand on her rust-colored undershirt as she answered him. "If you want a cooked meal, pick a spot. We can't just hang around here all day." She smirked at her own pun, still holding the now forgotten blood-soaked blade.

[Seven]

"Really you, always wanting to rush through the best parts," the ghoul both exclaimed and lamented at once. Noticeably, he hadn't rushed her through her fit of staring; he'd be eyeing up that blood too, and it was about time she started coming to his senses. "We gotta find a good house, with a nice oven. Probably something with a bigger chimney would denote it," he said, already looking at the rooftops. Peasant houses were far from fancy; they were what they were both inside and out, and a bigger chimney would probably mean a bigger hearth altogether. "Oh!" he exclaimed, all atwitter with manic, gleeful thoughts, "And if they have children, we'll have side dishes! Or at least a good basting marinade when we crack them open." The man, unfortunate soul forced to listen to this insanity, began to squirm more violently now that the knife was out of his side.  "Yeah, I guess you're right; we should hurry along."

In a sudden, sweep, Remsing was back beside the man, hands casually laid along his eye-level at the hanging man's hips. "It may just me getting myself riled again, or these coy little screams besting me, but he's starting to smell too delicious." He looked turned from meeting Anonyma's gaze back to the still bleeding knife wound, and for one much too fascinated eerie stretch of silence, the ghoul just stared at it, circled-eyes seeming to swirl hypnotically. "Maybe just one sample, pet," he quietly rumbled, and disregarded anything else, Remsing tugged the broken cloth around the wound, tearing  man's layers of shirts further to real pale, daylight-untouched skin, smooth and clean except Anonyma's almost surgical incision.  His strange, large, gnarled hands curled tightly about the waist, holding the man tight just before Remsing leaned in, running his equal (if not more so) strange, long tongue across the wound. It was a curious thing, there may have actually been some analgesic property to the ghoul's lick, for the man's whimpering died down faintly despite his unchanged circumstance, as countless other meals before him had.  

For Remsing, it was a delight. Eyes closed as he savored, he could have been a kid with some candy. With no regard of his waiting audience, his grip tightened again, the press of claws leaving pink pricks of irritation as Remsing bowed his head down again just to trace the vertical slash back up. What was perhaps the worst part was that with his left side facing her—the ghoulish monster half of his face toward the back—he, his actions, could have looked positively, debasely human. When the first claw unwittingly broke skin, his attentions scattered greedily, only fleetingly though as they proved insufficient, and his mouth simply closed partway around the original cut. The man gave a whimper, though was strangely, remained relatively calm, as impossibly sharp teeth sunk through flesh and Remsing simply sucked tightly flush against the wound.



Then, he might’ve—must’ve—remembered his company, as he shifted his head just slightly toward the left so as to not disrupt his claim; eyes opened and moved sidelong to meet Anonyma’s gaze, the red circles still vivid and hypnotic in the night as he stared at her. His gaze was neither apologetic nor unapologetic either way, as there was no thoughts or consideration to their supposed time crunch and her being made to watch and wait. Just a strangely focused gaze leveled on her as if momentarily entranced. He broke the odd moment after just a second, sharply pulling off. “Welp! Time to go find that oven and those children!” he said and quickly jerked the caught prey. The abruptness left him still trapped in netting, but torn off the proverbial webbing as the man gave another pained groan as he fell to the floor. It was hardly the only abruptness, as Remsing’s manner hastily, shiftily returned to bravado and casual nonchalance, tugging the man like a sack across the snowy roads rather the twisted would-be lover and receiver of desperate attentions that he had been.

[Forsaken]

Nothing about this situation should have reminded the raccoon of what it had felt like to wait for an old friend at the end of a wagon route. The normalcy, the relaxed vigilance, the slow simmer of excitement that was determined to boil over when that carriage finally came into view...none of it should have mirrored the macabre events taking place at present. Of course, what should have been and what was were so seldomly the same thing these days that she was long past trying to reconcile the two.

Whistling a familiar playful melody in a slow and haunting tone beneath the wind, she leaned against another nearby table and watched Remsing with his victim in the exact same way people would watch lions take down a gazelle on television. While admiring the grace and ferocity of the predator it was easy to lose all sense of empathy for it's prey. Not that she'd ever had much to lose in that department. The forgotten knife in her hand was given a new task while she watched and waited, lost in observation. She tossed it nimbly into the air, letting it spiral end over end as it returned safely to her hand, then again and again, tracing a red ribbon of pattern into the chilled air. It still had to be cleaned, but something in her resisted. That something wanted a taste, but the coalition of other somethings insisted it was best to abstain. The ghouls vice was not hers, and it would imply too much to make it so.

He sure made that blood and gore look savory, though. Curious creature that she was, it was just hard to resist.

The raccoon thief nearly dropped the blade when those hypnotic eyes turned her way as though the ghoul could see through to her very thoughts. Fortunately for her, she was a master of smooth recoveries; she unlocked her tensed hand in time to snatch the handle out of the air with such ease that it was hard to believe there had ever been a doubt. She knew, though. She had felt her body freeze as though ensnared by headlights, her heart speeding up while her whistled tune slowed uncertainly. There seemed to be a certain sort of heat in his stare that burned through the fine fur she wore in this humanoid form like the sun on bare skin. Knowing that she felt this way was vexing, to say the least.

There was no time for this nonsense; they had places to be, as Remsing was finally remembering himself. In a sudden flurry of activity that was nearly as telling as an outright blush would have been, she gathered the kerchiefs that were left behind when the ghoul pulled down his prize and then returned to their victim to make sure his ties remained firm. Then she cleaned her blade on a spare kerchief, reclaimed her scarf, and returned her props to their proper places before finally meeting Remsing's gaze again.

"So you're in the market for a large chimney and a side of children? I'm sure I can wrangle something up." The veneer of her usual arrogance was a touch ragged; the ghoul was really throwing off her game tonight. In order to counter the uneasy feeling, she backed up her confident statement by cracking her knuckles and rolling her shoulders to keep them loose. Then she ducked back into her vest and cloak, shifted back into the raccoon shape that fit properly, and stashed their bundled up victim into the very same pocket she'd put Remsing in earlier.

He'd only have a moment to hop on her back; the raccoon had moved close to him to give him his chance, but she wasn't going to wait around all night either. Once his allotted time was up, she climbed the stone wall as easily as a raccoon could climb a tree and raced off across the rooftops (and away from their original goal, though she hardly spared it a glance) until she found an appropriately large chimney. It smelled warm, like lightly smoldering coals, so it was definitely inhabited. She climbed around the building, peeking into a number of windows until she saw what her partner wanted. In addition to two parents, there were two young children in a shared room and an adolescent in another.

Anonyma climbed back to the top of the roof. "Why don't you climb down that chimney and unlock the door for me?" She asked, the sugary sweet tone ruined by the impish grin. "Such escapades are too great a challenge for a beast of burden, like myself." There were other ways; like trying to break in through a window or the front door. The raccoon just wanted to see what the ghoul would say, on the off chance that he would entertain her by actually volunteering to climb down a chimney. 

[Seven]

Remsing did not opt to hitch a ride from her, instead scaling on the rooftops on his own. He perched on the ledge beside her, until he saw what she saw, and then scuttled to verify. Literally scuttled, that was, with feet and palms that allowed him to whip around the vertical surfaces of house. With his malicious grin, he curled around windows, softly cooing in delight, but zooming off to the next opening. Yes, yes, children, adolescents, parents, big chimney—what a perfect make up! He clucked, and the next moment found himself beside Anonyma again, just in time to look mortified and aghast.



“What do you think I am?” he exclaimed, leaning back with his hand over his chest at the indignity. “A chimney sweep?” Remsing made a fair amount of disgruntled clicks, crossing his arms and shaking his head. For a moment, he thought of entertaining her; whatever his makeup and design, he was obscenely good with dark, narrow spaces, truly could have jimmied down there in a second, slaughtered the whole family, and greeted her at the door within the same half minute with a smile on his blood-soaked face. The chance as acting the homemaker greeting his “honey” at the door—seeing that stunned expression she would’ve made—might have been more than enough to—



Remsing stopped that line of thought, violently dismissing it as he crossed his arms tighter and stuck up his nose. “This is why you’re a beast of burden. I’ll show you how we get in with some sophistication,” he crowed. “Now if you just would—gimme that—“ Rather abruptly he was employing the same skill of scaling the house walls on her, wormily invading her sense of space as he climbed up her back as if heading for the saddle, only he went farther. Within a second he was by her neck when her cloak snapped off and he gave a triumphant caw. He didn’t wait for her to register or catch up; beneath her cloak he was already in a perfect position to steal her clothing by snapping it around him and then jumping off of her like a spring board.



The crazy ghoul used his leap off of her to dive bomb to the streets below, squarely before the front door. Rather than cracking his skull, he flipped around, landing naturally in a crouch. His expression was intense, his eyes closed as if still concentrating. From there, he slowly rose up, only the atmosphere was heavy, and his bones cracked and popping with the motion. Where he stood now, he was bigger—considerably taller to the point that Anonyma’s giant cloak suited him quite well, even as it still trailed in the snow. It seemed purposeful if anything, with the way it fanned out ornately behind him.



His hands were smaller, ungnarled with neatly manicured black nails instead of claws; she could see it as he lifted that hand to the bottom of his face, then raked his hand back through his mane. The mane immediately smoothed down, tamed and shiny as if gelled, like silvery hair. Even the horns were gone, flattened back by his will. The rest of the changes weren’t immediately apparent till he turned his head back and up over his shoulder to smirk at her: the black half of his face was gone, replaced by thin, angular features and milky white skin that matched his left half.



It was something truly remarkable how much of a Guardian Remsing could look like when he felt bothered to. Even his strange eyes matched their theme more than mark him as a false. “Why don’t you come down, Forsaken,” he teased her mercilessly, making soft man-chuckles as he beckoned her. He knew what they looked like—and hey! He hadn’t been lying!—and he wanted to have fun with it.

[Forsaken]

There would be something colder in the city than the wind when Remsing looked back to Anonyma with that arrogant smirk. Crouched like an especially ill-tempered gargoyle over five deep gouge marks in the stone, the wind itself seemed to avoid touching her for fear of retaliation. Every bristling hair stood still and jagged against the ambient glow of the streetlamps where they bled into the sky. Only the flicker of her pale eyes in her black mask gave any sense of movement at all. Narrowed as they were, they gleamed like twin blades in the shadows.

When the faux Guardian spoke her black lips twitched back from her sharp teeth and she moved away from the ledge, disappearing from view. Remsing would have a moment to wonder if she was just going to leave; it wouldn't have been the first time she'd lost her patience to that extent and it wouldn't be the last. After the beat of a few long seconds, her voice would finally drift far enough to reach him, pitched low and resonant with promised violence. It would quickly become clear that she wasn't speaking to the ghoul. 

"Here's the deal, pal. Those thoughts you will soon have of screaming for help? Nix them. For every noise I hear you make while my back is turned, someone else will lose an appendage. I will not be quick in my methods, and you will only live long enough to watch it all. You got me?" A pause while she waited for an answer that went unheard. Whatever happened in the silence must have been good enough for her though, because her tone had changed when she spoke again.

"Oh, and keep on eye on my things for me, will ya?" When she vaulted down to the street where Remsing stood in her roughly human form, she would once again appear to be in high spirits. She landed closer to the wall than he did since she preferred to keep a hand within easy reach of something solid when she fell, and her gait when she walked up to him was just one bounce short of a skip. 

"That cloak is quite flattering on you, actually." She said with a wink, appraising him. "You should keep it." There was no sign of the anger that had caused her to tear into a stone wall in pursuit of him not even a minute ago. 

As for the man on the roof, well, she did plan on going back for him once they got inside. She just had this role of Forsaken to play first, and they usually remained human (or as close to it as they could get) unless they were hunting something. It wouldn't have been good for the role, staying a raccoon in a pocket-infused vest.

[Seven]

Remsing had looked amused at her literal stone-grinding anger--he just knew he was going to get arise out of her for this one, it was so great--but she quickly put an end to it with her playful wink. He faltered a bit, all taunting comments about how she was constantly demanding him to wear clothes and "I thought you would want this" dying on his tongue as she complimented him.

How...? How in earth did one respond to that? 

He felt awful; simply worse than if she had actually managed to land a blow on him. In fact, she just might have when he really thought about it. 

Remsing's shoulders rose up, puffing up with petulance as he narrowed his eyes at her flattering smirk. The hair he had just slicked down now threatened to spike back out, a few pieces already popping out into their spiky places, adding to his almost ruffled appearance.  He quickly pushed his hair back down again before stepping forward to join her.

"Why would I keep it?" he asked, haughty and almost ill-dignified again. "You know I have no need of clothing. As desperate as you are to have me dressed, I still did not think you'd part with any part of your precious trove so easily." He paused, his eyes moving shiftily along the snowy floor, and with a grimace, he grumbled. "All your stuff will be fine." He brought his gaze back up in an exasperated sigh and shrug. "Not like I'll be doing much but knocking on a door in this thing. You can have it back once we're inside."

Welp. She had thrown his head out of the game. Time to get back on track as quickly as possible. He wanted out of this cloak already. Clothing was unnatural-- Haha, he was brilliant. 

With all the smoothness and indifferent grace of a Guardian, Remsing slowly approached the door and knocked heavily on the wood.  The residents inside understood perfectly well that it was dangerous during the night, that a call after nightfall was never good, to not open the door. But they could see past their windows at the inhumanely tall and white figure, and this was only reinforced by the now--much lower--tone of voice Remsing used to call them as he knocked heavily again.

"The is your Guardian. Open the door," he commanded, and the husband, still and uncertain, did so.  Remsing could see inside, just the family mother in the background with the children undoubtedly tucked aside. The wind whipped, partly disguising the human fear and giving them proper excuse to quiver. He didn't await invitation, simply stepping inside.

"Ah, my apologies, my Lord," the man said hastily. "And welcome. How--How might we be of service to your Lordship?"

Remsing, far too good at this, looked over their heads, eyes distant and yet focused and utterly  uninterested in the lowly affairs of humans. When he finally looked down at the man, with all his chilling serenity, he felt like the insect he was meant to be. "We are here on investigation. The rest does not concern you."  The man and his wife squirmed.

"My apologies, my Lord, we didn't mean to--"

"Silence," Remsing commanded, and immediately was obeyed. 

[Forsaken]

Anonyma had not expected her companion to become as flustered as he had. If she had thrown him a curveball with her enthusiastic appraisal, he had tossed it back in the exact same fashion with his unusually considerate words. Had he really just promised to take care of something he had stolen from her, and with such contrite sincerity too? Now he was again moving out of her reach before she could grab him, and those terrible things she had planned just a minute ago had become terrible in a different fashion entirely. A pledge to return her items unharmed was tantamount to a pledge of loyalty to the raccoon herself, seeing as she prized the items she collected above all else. 

The ghoul turned Guardian moved ahead so soon that she didn't have to immediately concern herself with hiding the way her expression became dazed and disconnected, practically lovestruck in that moment. Of course that was a stupid way to feel, so she shut the notion away with all the other uncomfortable thoughts and feelings she didn't bother to deal with on a day to day basis. 

She followed closely in Remsing's wake, plagued by a sense of giddiness that just wouldn't fade. There were worse emotions than euphoria; though peculiar under the circumstances, she didn't have much reason to beat this reaction back with the rest. In fact, she could probably make it work. To the humans whose home they would soon turn into a scene of slaughter, the slightly off manic gleam in her too-bright eyes was only to be expected of her kind anyway. 

Then she shut the door behind them...and locked it, throwing the deadbolt home. For the humans, no doubt a feeling of dread followed close on the heels of Remsing's ordained silence. 

Now was the time to begin. Much like the hunting hound Remsing had dreamed of turning her into earlier she set forth in search of the other residents in the house. She began to move up the stairs, ignoring a protest made by the mother. If the woman tried anything, Anonyma had no doubt that the ghoul would intercept her. The stairs opened up into a hallway that creaked fitfully as she approached. All of the lights had been turned off, but her eyes could see nearly as well in the dark as they could by day. She soon found the door that she suspected led to the children's room and slowly turned the handle, whistling yet another one of her strangely cheerful tunes as she did so. Then came a loud crack and she was crouched on the floor, the song coming immediately to a halt as an ancient siren of warning lit her nerves on fire one split second before the crossbow bolt, now fused with the door at eye level, would have pierced her skull. 

It would have been nice to have time to retort with some sort of zinger, but that hadn't been the only arrow that dark-eyed teen had. Anonyma rushed them, wasting not even a single drop of energy on a growl. In no time at all she had pulled the teen's arms behind his back and pressed him hard against the wall. It was then she noticed the two wide-eyed children in the room with them as well. So she had been right about the room. The older brother must have taken it upon himself to protect them when Remsing had sounded those first fateful knocks upon their door.

"You're a hell of a shot, kid." She told him, impressed in spite of herself. He'd almost nailed her, the little scamp! Sure, a shot like that could have killed her, but since her wits were so sharp they were practically weaponized there had never been any real danger. She dragged him to the top of the stairs while he struggled, spitting mad and cursing the whole while. Then, with no ceremony whatsoever, not even a parting statement, she effortlessly sent him tumbling down the stairs.

"I'll get the little ones real quick and then we can finally get this show on the road." She called down to Guardian ghoul, turning back to do precisely that. It only took her a minute to gather up the remaining two children in each arm and return to the top of the stairs. Sure, the older girl child appeared to be biting into her arm, but the leather of her jacket protected her well enough that she could afford to act as though that little act of rebellion didn't phase her at all. She was untouchable. They needed to learn that there was no use in trying; there could be no escape. 

[Seven]

Ah, Anonyma, it sound like she was having fun up there. Really, Remsing was starting to worry that he was going to wind up lazy at this rate, if he kept letting Anonyma do all the work. But wasn't lazy the perfect descriptor for Guardians? Powerful beings that did nothing but dictate? Still, he could have plenty fun down here. He looked down at the humans boredly, indeed blocking the way of the woman parent as she tried to lunge protectively for the stares. His eyes bore down into her like an abyss of white emptiness. "Do you have something to hide?" he asked, and the frightened woman shakily shook her head post-haste, and backed down.

It just so happened that that was when Anonyma set the teen tumbling painfully down the stairs. He groaned, but in spite of aching muscles screaming silent protestations, he was already trying to force himself back up. Remsing immediately dropped his heavy foot on the his back. "Don't think me unkind, child. But you have tried to shoot--to kill--my Servant. Now why on earth would you think to do such a thing. What are you so clearly hiding?"

These were heavy implications, very clearly laid out even without outright stating it. Of course, Remsing didn't know or care either way what the brat was or wasn't up to; for all he knew, the kid was just wise enough to know no Forsaken sneaking around a children's bedroom was a good thing. He rubbed his foot in, crunching a few ribs to ensure the kid wouldn't be able to run away when the time came, and he screamed. "Poor, dear, child," Remsing said with all the condescending kindness of a real Guardina--but his eyes narrowed hungrily on the teen. "You could have shone so bright..." Yes! Yes! The shiniest ones always tasted the best! 

It was then that the parents lunged forward; Remsing assumed it was to protect their child, and though there was no way such insects could possibly harm him, he still turned himself to prepare for the encounter. Only there was no fight. They fell to the floor, sobbing, with cries of, "Please, please venerable Lord! Spare us! We're--" The man shot a look of disdain. "--We had no part in this Rebel's deeds! He's not even my son!"  Remsing's eyes widened curiously, staring down at the parental figures fallen at his feet. He very much wanted them off of him--dirty, stupid, mongrels--and he felt strangely... sincerely surprised. Maybe even a bit bad? It didn't stop him from putting one foot back, stepping on the teen again with another crunch --insect--as the boy tried to do something again.  Remsing hardly had to give it a thought, which was a good thing considering that the parents were still assailing him with their self-preserving remarks. Outcasting this 'not-son,' this fiend, this newly-declared rebel. 

Remsing knew that humans rarely cared for the truth, but he thought it was usually to look favorably upon members of their own select 'family' units.  Now he was just annoyed.

The not-Guardian narrowed a fiery stare, his lips pulling back to snarl; the motion broke his transformation just that much, with a stretched mouth that drew too far back for delicate Guardian aesthetics. Behind his lips were teeth far from anything remotely Guardian, not that it mattered now. Remsing finally lifted his foot to pace forward.

"I hate traitors," he hissed. Oh shoot-- "We the Guardians cannot tolerate traitors in our midsts--" Ah, fuckit. He glared again. He continued on in some cruel parody of his own voice and the one he had mimicked. "--and I despise cowards." With a sudden sweep of wind, or energy, or what not, the two parents and the one teen were swept and crashed against the wall, hard. Immediately after the household items, beginning with a convenient coil of rope, bound them, tied them, held them in place. Couldn't play Guardian without a show of magic, now could he. "Anonyma--" He smirked, eyeing darkly at the struggling pair in her grasp. "--break those two brats' heads." 

[Forsaken]

The top of the landing seemed the equivalent of front row balcony seats all of a sudden. If her arms hadn't been full, Anonyma would have been tempted to pull up a chair and watch at her leisure. There were some juicy twists and turns in the seedy family politics that had rapidly begun to unveil themselves. It was almost as though the parents had answered honestly when Remsing had asked them what they were hiding; it just hadn't been the answer he had expected, let alone meant to imply. 

His reaction was better yet, just downright noble like a good leader should be. Oh sure, he ate people all the time, but not usually his people, and everyone had a few skeletons in their closet. Unfortunately, there was no time to just watch the show go on. She had been given an order. With a nod to her not-Guardian and a beaming flash of teeth, she obeyed.

"Whatever you say, boss."  The family wouldn't even have time to beg her to stop. The raccoon acted immediately and with startling finality, bouncing the smallest child into the air so that she could readjust her grip. Grabbing him by the head so severely that the tips of her claws drew forth large beads of blood on his delicate scalp, she threw him toward the front door with a show of strength that could only be described as excessive. The child had begun to cry when her claws sank in, but fell silent when his skull struck the stone floor of the entryway and exploded into a pool of gore. Blood splattered against the pristine white of the door and complementary tan walls like paint flung from an thick-bristled brush. 

The mother screamed, the father yelled, the teenager said nothing but his eyes burned. He didn't seem one to needlessly waste energy when it was in short supply. A survivor, that one. She'd spared them only a glance, but it seemed to reveal so much about them. Well, it was on to the next deed, and the mist of blood near the doorway hadn't even begun to settle. Nor had the chunks of gore had time to drop from the ceiling where some had splattered. She'd have to be less enthusiastic with this last one, or what was left wasn't going to be easy to work with. 

It was probably best to keep the murder of the girl short and straight to the point. She closed her newly freed hand over the face of the girl, the gnashing teeth set as they were into the flat human face unable to find any purchase now. Points for trying where recognition was due, though it wasn't enough to save her. The not-Forsaken leaped over the railing to the floor below, smashing the back of the girls head against the hardwood floor only feet from where her not-Guardian was standing. She did not rise from her crouch until she was absolutely sure the girl was dead; she felt no breathing against her hand any longer and the pool of blood that slowly spread across the floor seemed appropriately final. Satisfied, she stood. 

"The ball's in your court now, boss." She'd thought the words would come out cool and aloof, but there was a strange sort of hum creeping into her voice. A bit like a song but a lot like a growl. It was subtle, but also...new.

[Seven]

Well, those kids certainly smelled ripe. Between that and the weirdly familiar gruff quality of voice coming from behind him, he very nearly shuddered. The question now, for Remsing was, just how far did he plan to take this little game? He could feel it already drawing to its conclusion. Remsing paused, keeping his face still and stoic upon the screaming, sobbing parents, tilting his head back in his dismissive appraising. His eyes then lit with a dark, cruel idea. Oh. Oh. This was going to be positively malefic.



He slowly sauntered over to the girl-corpse; now that she was dead, she proved very little resistance for his magic, even if it was limited. Throwing things about was easy, but the steady, still levitation that a real-guardian might’ve used took a bit more concentration. He looked down at her and--Remsing snapped a finger off, popping it into his mouth like a human might’ve popcorn, and as he turned fully back to his audience, he felt he could tangibly, actually feel the air turn tense. There was an all new sort of horror on the humans’ faces, turned a new pale ghostly shade of white. Remsing chuckled lowly, slowly stepping over to Anonyma. He didn’t know what possessed him--actually, he knew perfectly well what possessed him--but he began to stroke his hands between Anonyma’s ears. It was the type of actions Guardians constantly employed to tame and treat their favored Forsaken, and it helped solidify the act--which was all it was. “I think it was about time to set the fire to cook our meal, Servant. The question is, shall we broil them fresh?”



The new volume of screaming was a bit annoying, but it’d be over soon enough. They wiggled and squirmed and--Remsing narrowed his eyes at the teen’s binds. They loosened in time with one of his jerks and the kid bolted for the door. Of course, either Remsing could have stopped it just by using magic to slam the door shut on him, lock it again, but… Remsing just shrugged his shoulders and sighed a world-weary sound, like it was too much trouble to bother with. “Whoops,” he murmured, still fastidiously busy giving Anonyma scratches.

[Forsaken]

The feel of the ghoul's strangely human hand on the back of her head was unexpected; it was the sort of liberty other beings in other times had been mauled for trying to take. Her failure to feel even the slightest urge to retaliate had to be a side effect of this act of theirs; putting on an act of subservience was a dangerous game. Play into a role long enough and one becomes the part. She knew that. If she felt pleasure instead of rage, it was because she had let the boundaries fade.

The part would be over soon, she assured herself. She didn't have to maintain this front much longer, and besides, wasn't she clever enough to navigate such labyrinthine acts and intentions without losing her way? Of course she was.

Then she heard it; a low rumble like the one that had just been present in her voice, but this time it manifested alone. What the- was she purring?! Raccoons couldn't do that. Besides, purring couldn't be the right word for whatever this was. It was summoned by the pleased contentment she felt in the wake of this ongoing scene of horror, but it was not a sound meant to soothe in turn as a cat's purr was. Like a violent tremor in the earth, it was a dark omen.

Anonyma nearly failed to open her eyes in time to see the older boy escape. She had not even realized she'd closed them. Whoops indeed. Regardless, he was free now, and homicidal longing now lingered strangely with the satisfaction she had expected to feel. It was okay, though. They had two playthings here, and another meal in wait on the roof.

Those pitifully atrocious creatures they'd allowed to remain alive had to stop screaming long enough to draw breath. When they finally did so, felt the trembling in the house itself around them as though it was sharing the tracks with a runaway train, it would result in a long pause before they remembered to breathe again.

In answer to Remsing, she said. "They are best cooked fresh, don't you agree?" Her voice was cordial, even as that strange rumbling went on without pause, subtly creeping through the walls and floor. She tipped her head ever so slightly further into the ghoul's hand.

[Seven]

Remsing heard the rumbling, his head turning away from where he had been staring at Anonyma to glance at the room. It was... wrong, yet he did not feel threatened when perhaps he should have. He looked back to Anonyma, and there was a flicker of question in his eyes, visible for only a moment. Was she doing this? 

He pushed it away from his mind, deeming it improbable. The house was old and rickety, and Manticore had weird sewage and tunnels beneath the city. Cavyrn itself was underground. He wouldn't be surprised if one day the whole place turned into a giant sink whole, if the earth would swallow up this abomination and wipe it clean off its surface once and for all. So he went back to smiling benignly at her, his grin spreading wider. "I like how you think," he said, his voice a low rumble as he leaned in toward her. 

That's when the woman piped up, her voice squeaking like any small vermin might've. "You're! You're really going to eat us?!"

Remsing turned around, annoyed at this intrusion, and looked at her like she was daft. Maybe she was daft--he had already said this before! "What else do you think we'd do to you?" he snarled in disgust.  Well, time to get on it.

His hand reached toward the hearth, and instantly the oven was set ablaze with large cooking flames.  The table that had just been holding them then flipped--with them on it--and its constitution now seemed... a bit more slick. Like metal... The parents were still fully trussed up, and now, on the bottom side of the table, it's legs sticking up around them, it was clear: they were all prepped and ready to go in the oven.  Then Remsing knocked at his own head in self-admonishment.

"Silly me! We still have these children. And the other boy!" Remsing scooped up the two once-kids, smashing them against each other over their parents--'More screaming, more horror, blah blah blah,' Remsing thought without empathy as the gore was spread over the still living people--before dropping the smaller pair on top of the older pair. He contemplated it, then for good measure, grabbed the salt and pepper and dumped unceremoniously all of the granulated contents on top of it all. Then he looked back at Anonyma. "Darling? Won't you be a dear and go get our other little friend still outside? I'm preheating the oven. Don't want to let it get out of control." The massive flames continued to lick up dangerously.